


Best Laid Plans

by xiaoshe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaoshe/pseuds/xiaoshe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some unspecified time post-Reichenbach, John takes a spur-of-the-moment holiday...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo... first fic in almost four years. Second fic ever.  
> Random little plotbunny that popped into my head and begged to be written. Uni was boring, here we are.  
> Nothing belongs to me, et cetera, et cetera. Not even the title, which is shamelessly stolen (and slightly misquoted) from Robert Burns's _To a Mouse_.
> 
> Beta'd by [ascyr](http://ascyr.livejournal.com/), the most awesome beta ever.

A quick getaway, a change of scenery, somewhere that's not London. That had been John's plan.

Take the tube to Heathrow, book the next flight to _somewhere_. ( _Somewhere_ turned out to be Valletta, Malta.)  
Take lots of photographs, never to be looked at again, after.  
Sample the local cuisine.  
Buy too many overpriced souvenirs.  
Get a bit of a tan, and lots of Vitamin D.

The plan got thrown out of the window somewhere around “take lots of photographs”:

John was edging back, trying to get the _whole_ façade of St. John's Co-Cathedral on the picture... and then that bloke crashed into him, at a run, knocking them both to the ground.

Time kicked into slow motion as the stranger – the dark-haired, pale, too-skinny-for-his-own-good stranger – froze, and Sherlock Holmes locked eyes with John Watson.  
Sherlock Holmes who'd jumped off of St. Bart's.  
Sherlock Holmes who was very much alive – and in Valletta, Malta, of all places.

“Sherlock... what...?”  
Sherlock silenced him with a _look_. John knew that look only too well – they're after me, prepare to run, prepare for mortal peril.

Every self-preservation instinct John had ever possessed kicked into gear.  
He nodded, once.  
I'm in. You _will_ explain later.

Sherlock grinned, relieved, mischievous, slightly mad and so alive, and they were off at a mad dash through Valletta's narrow backstreets.

 


End file.
